Magnitogorsk
by WhiteRoseRed
Summary: Kurt meets Blaine Anderson at Magnitogorsk when he's 20 years old. The years he spends working his fingers to the bone would have killed him, had it not been for Blaine


**This is something written for Klaine AU Friday. This is an era I'm really interested in. I apologise for how far fetched some of it might seem due to some historical circumstances...but yeah, I hope you enjoy it:) Reviews would be lovely. WhiteRoseRed xx**

In the eastern part of the Ural Mountains of Russia, lay the speedily expanding industrial city of Magnitogorsk. It was deep into a particularly cold Russian winter when Kurt Hummel came to work at the steel plants. He had been carted there along with what seemed like at least a thousand others, all squashed into only a few freight wagons, a train transporting the enthusiasts that had volunteered, the peasants who had been pulled from the fields to help industrialise the Soviet, and those who had been forced as a consequence for being a Kulak, or as an alternative to being completely purged from existence. Over a quarter of a million people worked their fingers to the bone at Magnitogorsk, doing everything they could to reach their target as not to be beaten, transferred to a section of the city with even harsher conditions, or even be shot.

Kurt Hummel came from a small town, located less than a hundred miles west of Moscow, less than a hundred miles from Stalin, the man who had suddenly kicked the Soviet back into life, never stopping, and with no compassion for those who suffered the consequences of such sudden change; the forced labour, the collectivisation of farms that lead to a huge famine, killing millions. Stalin was set on developing the USSR into a powerful country, more powerful than any in Europe, more powerful than any in Asia, and his main goal, to bypass the USA. As such, Kurt was all but forced into holding the same views. He was being sent to Magnitogorsk to help create a stronger Motherland, and as a communist, to become equal among the other workers. Kurt supposed that he should feel privileged to be given such a role, he supposed that everyone should feel privileged to be able to help build up their homeland, but he didn't. He didn't quite understand how anyone could whilst standing rod straight in a miniscule freight car full of human excrement, whilst starving, parched, and absolutely exhausted.

Blaine Anderson had been at Magnitogorsk for a year before he met Kurt. Blaine couldn't help but notice how truly miserable Kurt looked when he all but tripped into the small room he was to share with him. Kurt's eyes were sunken, and the oversized clothes made his frame look even tinier than it already was. It was late, almost 11 o'clock. Blaine had been earlier been informed that he was to receive a new roommate after Igor, his prior roommate, had fallen from the icy scaffolding of a refining centre, and was instantly killed.

Kurt dropped his small sac, containing only the essentials he needed, made his best effort to smile at Blaine, and claimed the top bunk.

* * *

"Work hard, Kurt. Work hard and you'll be treated like a hero," Blaine said. Summer had come upon them, and Kurt had been working at the steel plants for almost six months. "That's what they always say."

"I know, Blaine. Trust me. I know. Production targets weren't met last year, were they?" Blaine shook his head in confirmation, and the action seemed to cause him some kind of pain. "Well…what happens if they aren't met this year? What happens if we can't work hard enough? They can only force so much before more and more people begin dropping like flies."

"Kurt, you know it's dangerous to speak like this…"

"Nobody can hear us here, Blaine. You realise that this is the only place we can speak candidly? You're the only person I can talk to like this, because you're the only one I know I can trust not to inform on me."

"I trust you, too, Kurt."

Kurt smiled gently, "I'm glad," he took Blaine's hand in his for a moment, and felt those sparks that could compete with the raging fires of the blast furnaces. "Blaine…how long are you to serve here?"

"Six," Blaine replied quietly.

Kurt nodded. "Do you think it's worth it?"

"I think the Soviet needs protection. I think we've been backward for far too long. I believe that industrialisation could help us, if only Stalin doesn't lead us to destroy ourselves in the process."

"Is that you speaking candidly, Blaine Anderson?" Kurt asked, slightly teasingly.

"That's me speaking candidly, Kurt Hummel."

Blaine kissed him that night.

* * *

The next winter was even colder than the one that had come before. A thick layer of ice coated everything. Machines and scaffolding that were already incredibly hazardous became even worse. The death rate increased, which led to more and more people being pulled from the towns and cities to work until they too lost their individuality, and fell into the machine of workers, faces expressionless, not even pained anymore.

Kurt was certain he wouldn't be able to survive without Blaine's company when he finally returned from the dormitories.

Which is why when he finally heard of Blaine's accident, his heart all but plummeted. He rushed the dormitory officer for more information, he tried to find an excuse that would allow him to visit Blaine in the section hospital, but nothing would convince the stone-faced man, and Kurt was left in distressing silence, the only sound his heartbeat when he tried to sleep that night.

He was woken earlier the next morning, as Thursday was the day he was expected to work the longest. He carried out his duties anxiously, very nearly burning himself several times. He ate his share of bread with filthy hands, he watched a man be shot for supposedly sabotaging machinery, although Kurt knew this was barely ever true. He was an example to them. A tragic casualty of Stalin's poisonous paranoia and wish to spread terror among the workers. He still had no idea what had happened to Blaine, but the word 'accident' ran through his head all day, more painful than the frostbite and the exhaustion.

Kurt wondered if you had to love someone for your heart to break.

* * *

Blaine returned to their room un-expectantly. Kurt ran straight into his arms, and kissed him passionately, before bursting into tears of both joy and relief. Blaine showed him the scar where the doctor had pulled out a large chunk of metal from his arm, and Kurt squirmed and cringed.

They talked for hours, aware of how they desperately needed sleep, but not really caring, both optimistic that their happiness would carry them through the next day better than any soup or cup of black tea.

Blaine told Kurt stories of the other casualties he saw in the ward, of the lovely nurse who checked up on him, how she cooed and smiled charmingly at him as she dabbed at his forehead.

Kurt was jealous until Blaine told him that he loved him.

* * *

Years went by at Magnitogorsk. Targets were continuously not met, and conditions became worse as workers were pushed harder and harder. Winters became colder and colder, temperatures often plummeting to -40 centigrade. Both Kurt and Blaine worked their hardest, never heroes, but respectable communists, they supposed. Kurt was homesick often. Blaine would comfort him and tell him he'd be able to go back soon.

"Just four years, Kurt."

"Just three years, Kurt."

"Just two years, Kurt."

"Only a little while. Just a little while."

Blaine was dismissed from work a year earlier than Kurt. Or at least he was supposed to be. But he stayed. He volunteered to stay another year. Kurt begged him not to. Blaine was prone to accidents and Kurt couldn't take the fact that Blaine was risking his life for another year…for him. For _Kurt_.

But Blaine wouldn't be persuaded. They would talk at night about where they wanted to go after their service. They both knew there weren't many choices. They would take up respectable jobs in a respectable town, and earn the same as everyone else, eat the same as everyone else, and live the same as everyone else.

In 1938, they were finally dismissed from service, and so were branded to be safe. They hoped that Stalin's purges wouldn't reach them. What could they possibly be accused off? Kurt took Blaine to his hometown only to find that he shouldn't have been worried about himself, or for Blaine, but for his father. Carole tried to explain to him.

"They took him in the night, Kurt. He didn't do anything wrong. He was a good man. He didn't do anything wrong."

Kurt cried himself to sleep for nights, hatred and fear running through his veins as Blaine held him and tried to soothe him. He was 26 years old. He had worked himself to death for six years, his father was dead, gone, _purged_, for a crime that he had never committed. He realised that Blaine was really the only one he had left. It was this that made him realise he had to get away. He had to protect him. The only individuality he had, he found in Blaine.

Stalin could make him eat soup and bread every day, Stalin could make him work for years and years, Stalin could force him to live in a drab house and take away all of his prior possessions, but Stalin could never take away his love for Blaine, and nobody could love Blaine like him. Of course it was a secret. One whiff of anything like _that_, and he'd be whisked away and shamed before he could even say goodbye. But somehow, Kurt didn't care.

When the Nazis invaded Russia, Kurt and Blaine managed to finally escape the Soviet. It was dangerous, and if they were found out, they'd be shot in an instant. They travelled for days, weeks, lying about whom they were and hitching rides from whoever they could. Carole and Kurt's stepbrother, Finn, had come along with them. Kurt asked about Blaine's family, but Blaine only shook his head and spoke words of starvation and 'too late, it's too late'.

It was difficult, but Kurt was determined to make it, and with Blaine alongside him, he was confident he could. Kurt was certainly grateful that he paid attention in geography class many years beforehand. The entirety of Europe was in chaos, people were trying to escape to safer places, and families were in fear of those who had been sent off to fight in the war.

When they reached France finally, after months of travelling, Kurt couldn't be happier. In the southwest of the country, they found shelter and set themselves up for their new lives. Free of Stalin, free of the Soviet, and free of terror.

They began to smile again. Kurt discovered quickly that he had been looking for France his whole life. Everything was so beautiful to him. It took a while for them to be accepted into the community, but finally they found acceptance and happiness. Kurt and Blaine were still a secret; they supposed that they always would be, but Kurt had Blaine and that was all that seemed to matter. Kurt found himself a place in the nearby college, studying design, and Blaine began to sing again. There were few Russian immigrants there, but those that did reside in their area were changed like them. They were happier. The Russian children played among the French. They shared their culture and their language, and the no discriminatory attitude that the children showed soon spread to the adults.

When the war was over, and France was freed from German power, life became even better for Kurt and Blaine. They had hope for once. They would trace each other's scars and remember, but they were safe in the knowledge that they were safe now; safe in their embrace. Kurt was holding Blaine in his arms. He kissed his head and smoothed his hands down Blaine's bare back. Blaine was humming a song from his childhood, which made Kurt smile slightly.

Kurt told Blaine that he'd do everything in his power to be with him forever.


End file.
